


Just Desserts

by SawyerFalksTheSilverFox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, No Sex, One Shot, Still in school, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 07:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4867736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SawyerFalksTheSilverFox/pseuds/SawyerFalksTheSilverFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There it was again. That wisp of a scent that is driving Severus mad...</p><p>Written in Dec 2010, cross-posting on AO3 in all its unedited-since-then glory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Desserts

There it was again.

Severus was currently glowering at his desk, eyes scanning his classroom like a starved hawk as his higher-level students took their exam. Typically he would be flaying the papers before him with his red-inked quill, but he liked watching his students squirm. Call it _schadenfreude_ , call it cruelty; Severus did not care. He loved it. Some chewed their nails, some darted their eyes side to side, some suddenly found themselves incapable of controlling the movement of their knees. It was fantastic; he was permitted this esoteric spectrum of when students were at their worst. Few could hold this simple pleasure above his head.

So then why was he unable to concentrate? It was because **it** was back again. **_It_**. **_IT_** was a faint little thing, barely there, barely even noticeable, but it was still _there_. A tiny little tendril of a scent; that's all it was. The most minuscule of the minute scents. And for some unexplained reason, it always left him craving something decadent and sugary. Every. Damned. Time. Severus Snape did not typically crave sweet things like a hormonal pregnant woman, so this _minute, inconsequential little thing_ that held such power over him rather irked him.

It rather irked him a lot.

In his dungeon classroom, there were many scents he could distinguish. He was no Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, but his rather distinctive nose had its perks. He could make out the faint, biting tones of preservatives from the jars on the uppermost shelf, he could tell that Malfoy was wearing far too much of Lucius's cologne, he could make out the earthy scent of cauldron soap and even the dungeons themselves had a quiet odor to them due to the dampness. It was this other scent, this damned gentle effluvium, that he could not for the life of him discern from the pungent redolence about him.

In fact, this said effluvium had been plaguing him for nearly three long years. He would catch it every once in a while, and it was no everyday occurrence. But then it would return, calling out to him like an anthropomorphic desire for sugary strawberry shortcake and warm biscuits and a woman's soft skin and blackberry crepes and-

Wait, what was that third one?

Tossing that aggravating little bit aside, Severus racked his ( _oh yes, my ever so-impressive_ ) brain in an attempt to recall when the little annoyance had begun to plague him; it was during the Tri-wizard Tournament, yes? When the teenagers of Hogwarts had abound with love declarations and far too much snogging for his liking. That ridiculous ball had only been an excuse for inane amounts of unnecessary displays of public affection. What a mess it had been.

The curious intoxication had arrived during that year, when Harry Potter and his foolish pack of associates had been in their fourth year. He had been circling the desks of the Gryffindor side of the room when it had first intrigued him. Severus had brushed it off at that point, regarding it as nothing more than an onslaught from a less-than experienced teenage girl who did not understand the subtleties of perfume application. But when the Slytherins and Gryffindors had filed out of class that day, Snape was left with an insatiable craving for a fruit tart that simply would not cease. A bloody fruit tart, of all the ridiculous things!

Given that it had occurred again and again, each time sending delicious recommendations of varying types of desserts to his brain, Severus had begun a sort-of process of elimination to try and figure out who to punish for their insolence. Severus had it narrowed down to either a Gryffindor or a Slytherin. Hopefully a female, given the sugary connotations the damned thing brought with it. If a male student of his was giving off such an odor, he would not only dock them points- he would probably drench said student with a cauldron's worth of Esscence of Titan Arum blossoms; smelling like rotting meat would be far more acceptable than smelling like a basket of sun-ripened fruit.

What had all the occurrences over the years had in common? Perhaps it was Miss Parkinson, she had been throwing herself at her fellow Slytherins since her first year. But if she was so wanton in her actions, why was her perfume not permeating more intensely? Perhaps Miss Patil? Miss Greengrass? No, definitely not...

As the Potion Master's depthless eyes surveyed the room unnoticed by the throng of students fretting over his unannounced quiz, a pair of large brown eyes suddenly met his. His eyes remained locked on hers for a brief moment, as his brow furrowed in slight confusion.

It was of course, the Insufferable Know-it-All herself, Miss Granger, who was staring him down with decided intensity. Stealing a glance to the parchment in front of her, it appeared she had been done with the quiz for quite some time. After a moment or two of the stare-down, the young woman's hand shot into the air as if launched from a cannon.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Professor Snape asked, with an arched eyebrow and none too amused.

"Should we just give the exam to you when we're done, or do you want us to pass them all in at once?" asked the girl, whose hair was looking particularly bizarre at present, not that he typically noticed such things. She had pulled it away from her face in a loose ponytail, but it was half-wet and unbrushed. Normally the girl tried to tame the otherwise frazzled cloud about her head with at least an attempt at brushing. Sometimes a plait, sometimes a ponytail. Truthfully he had no room to judge hair-wise, but Miss Granger's appearance struck a nerve personally. Was his class so unimportant to the girl that she had decided there was no real point in looking presentable? What cheek.

"On. My. Desk. Miss. Granger. Same as always," Severus sneered. The tension in the room was thicker than that fat beneath erumpent skin, but a suppressed giggle or two managed to work its way around.

The Gryffindor girl got up with her typical air of self-confidence, nose slightly elevated in assured poise. Hermione knew she had every last answer right, and he did too. Miss Granger was the only one who had not groaned when he had announced the pop quiz. Professor Snape secretly admired the girl's book-smarts, but detested her plucky, self-assured attitude and worse, her choice of acquaintances.

She presented the parchment to him with a pleased grin on her face, which he snatched from her fingers in his usual display of contempt. He was about to dismiss her from the classroom and berate the remaining students (which was actually the whole class sans Hermione) for taking so long on material they should be familiar with, when something made him pause.

The scent. It had caressed him just then, just as Miss-

Miss _Granger_?

Realizing the girl had spun to retrieve her materials from her desk (no doubt the catalyst for the burst of fragrance), the Potions Master remarked after her, "I did not excuse you, Miss Granger."

Looking at her teacher with a confused look on her features, then taking a look to the door, Hermione reasoned, "But I've completed the exam, professor."

"Sit." Snape commanded, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach that had been the result of Hermione's breathy manner of saying the word 'professor.' "And you will remain there until everyone else has gone. We need to discuss this abhorrent effrontery you have been flaunting as of late."

"But, Professor I didn't-"

"Not another word, Miss Granger, there is a test being administered."

Hermione slumped back into her seat, looking rather put-out. Severus had found the source for the intoxication, and he was not about to let her go without an explanation. No. No, definitely not.

Sitting at the table beside a rather fidgety Neville Longbottom who had apparently not studied in case of a quiz, Hermione allowed her chin to fall into one hand. Her knees were shaking beneath the table, and the young woman breathed a sigh of relief that Neville would undoubtedly attribute a trembling bench to his own nervousness rather than her own. Her heart was also racing, and Hermione was well aware that her cheeks were heated.

Ever since Hermione's first year, the had grown used to the fact that Professor Snape was going out of his way to not only ignore her know-it-all attitude, but every once in a while would happily indulge himself by embarrassing her. After coming to this realization so early on (for she was in fact, a rather sharp girl) Hermione had not allowed his little moments of dominance sway her for her entire Hogwarts career.

Until recently.

Hermione leaned back in her seat and cast a glance towards the looming desk of her potions professor. His face was bent over a stack of parchment, and a red quill was held delicately in one long-fingered hand. By the looks of it, the stack of paper was just for show, as they were mercifully unmarked as of yet. Hermione assumed he was surveying the nervous students; she had picked up on a trick of his recently that involved watching everyone through a curtain of his dark hair. Hermione would never have noticed this rather clever device of her professor's had not been watching him so closely, however.

For quite some time the student had been confused by feelings of embarrassed excitement every time her snarky professor was near. Perhaps it was the way he moved, or the way he stared with such intensity, or perhaps it was his thin, nimble fingers. His hands were seen by some as spider-like, clutching and snapping at a moment's notice, but they also cradled glass tubes and elegantly slivered potions ingredients. Boys her age fumbled with their hands, due to lack of inexperience. She liked a number of them, but her classmates were awkward with their hands, awkward with their juvenile pass-times, and awkward with their conversations. 

It was not their fault, boys her age, oh no. They were simply not as experienced, and with a sharp mind like hers it was difficult to find an intellectual match. She prided herself on her book-smarts and general knowledge; heck, even her vernacular was better tamed than most. With her classmates it was like talking to a wall most of the time, a pleasant wall yes, but when it came down to it conversing with bricks was _still_ conversing with bricks...

Which lead her to the subject of Snape's voice, like silk and velvet having a conversation with bitter chocolate each time he spoke. The way he handled his words! Each one chosen specifically to bite or stab or caress. Caress had to be a choice, with the careful way the words flowed from his lips. It was silly, yes, but Hermione knew somewhere Snape just had to have the capability for such niceties. Coupled with those intense, dark eyes his words were like a death sentence for her knees.

Hermione gave herself a mental slap ( _ouch!_ ). Students had crushes on teachers _all the time_ \- herself included when Lockhart had first come about, though that had cooled off extremely quickly. She knew that having such a crush was just part of maturing, just part of growing up. But Severus Snape? She'd be damned if she would let on to anyone that **he** was the object of her attentions!

The young woman watched as Pansy Parkinson flounced to Snape's desk and dropped her parchment atop the few that were already there. She gave the professor a coy little smile, and the Potions Master simply looked at her and motioned his head to the door. No snide remark, no sneer, no nothing. Slytherins were lucky to have his acceptance.

'What a stupid thought, Miss Hermione!' her mind chided. 'It's bad enough you get all shaky-kneed around him, now he's gone and made you stupid-brained? Please tell me you put down jobberknoll feathers for question three and not 'jobbledknee' feathers, because that will not make him amused.'

Hermione had to agree with the voice. She was thinking rather stupidly. Hermione allowed her mind to wander then, attempting to pass the time as the other students finished up their exams and filed out one by one. Earlier today she had lost track of time with her studies, and was once again forced to take a shower just before classtime. Her damned unruly mane was still wet! Hermione was annoyed in having rushed the shower; it was supposed to relax her and cleanse her, not just be a routine scrub-up. She had been having a stressful week, dangnabbit.

'It could be lovely...' her mind started, with apparently some influence from some unspecified other bodily region, '...to have someone assist in the bathing part, you know? That would be _really_ relaxing.'

Then her traitorous mind went to parts unknown, daydreaming about a set of slim hands on skin that were not her own and running her fingers through silky dark hair. What would it be like, to press her wet body against against a lean, strong one? Her unseen daydreamed man knew just where to touch her to make her moan, to make her sigh, to make her purr like a cat. She had still not settled on the perfect face for him, but he was so careful, so sensual. Not sexy. Sexy was cheap; Hermione wanted sensual and dark and dangerous. Yes, that was it. Hermione could almost feel him sliding his hands against her lathered skin, the air in the shower moist and thick with the aroma of her berry-scented body wash and the deliciously naughty scent of arousal. She could almost hear his low voice just there, just in her ear as he pressed his hardness against her...

"Miss Granger?" came a voice with that condescending nasal, cutting through her reverie like a sharp little knife.

Looking around, poor bemused Hermione noticed the classroom was empty save the professor and herself.

"My apologies; did I interrupt something important?" Professor Snape sneered, looking rather annoyed and exultant at the same time.

Clearing her throat, Hermione shook her head in the negative. Confidently, she hoped. It had been a confident no. She hoped that had been a confident 'no.' She was a lioness, dammit.

"Well then. I think we need to discuss this attitude of yours as I mentioned. To the front, Miss Granger."

Hermione picked herself up from her seat and made her way to the area in front of the chalkboard. Snape rose from his place as she did so, staring down her movements with the glittering bits of onyx where his eyes should have been.

"Remain where you are," came the command, and Severus Snape began to draw closer to the spot where Hermione was rooted.

Hermione could feel her breath hitch as he got ever closer, and began a rather laborious circle around her. He was carefully checking that he did in fact, have the right victim; Snape's plan was to seem as though he was just trying to intimidate. Per usual. Otherwise his actions might be interpreted as strange, and he did not need rumors. Not with how quickly things spread and got exaggerated in the damned castle.

As he began a second turn, this time in the opposite direction, Hermione was far past intimidated. She was not feeling at all like a student at present; she was feeling studied, examined, perhaps even hunted. Yes, that was it; suddenly Hermione was no longer a lioness brave and bold. She was prey. She was just a little mouse, cornered by a stealthy snake who was moving in for the kill.

Rather than eliciting panic from her, this feeling of being hunted by Professor Snape was actually giving her other reactions. Due to her previous (decidedly naughty) shower daydream, her mind was precisely in the wrong place for such proximity. He stood just to her left, glowering at her with his typical Snape-malice. What Hermione was unaware of was that she was causing Snape to crave a Yule Ball dessert he had only sampled once, and was wracking his brain in an attempt to remember the exact name of it. To her, he was seething about something and she was unfortunately excited about the circumstances.

It had not helped that Professor Severus Snape had been staring at her so intensely lately. Just what was he doing? Rather than the casual glances he typically gave in her direction, he had been circling her table during class far more frequently that usual. It was like he was searching for something, something she was unaware of. Unfortunately, the repeated actions of close proximity to the man of her current obsession was not helping her feelings in any manner whatsoever. It made her want to study _him_. Every little movement, every little stare, just to try and piece together a tangible explanation of the curious man. That presence over and over was frightening and intoxicating all at once. She found herself wishing for him to circle her table just once more during class, and was terrified when he did so. Her obsession was ultimately socially unacceptable. Completely unacceptable. ...And yet so indulgent.

Hermione's scattered thought processes were completely unknown to Snape, as he assumed the sudden rigidness of the young woman's spine was due to his intimidation techniques. As far as the older man knew, his creepy stalking was just as efficacious as always and the girl would assume this was a routine scolding by her potions professor. He was about to find out differently of course, but did not realize it at present.

'For heaven's sakes,' her brain screamed, 'he has greasy hair and a hooked nose and... And...' 

Who was she trying to fool? She found him exotic and attractive. Perhaps her attraction just wasn't due to his physical presence, after all, she was very much attracted to his intelligence. The power that came off of him was due to that sexy brain of his. He was full of experience and wit and knowledge and all the things she craved in boys her age. She was willing to bet all the gold in Gringott's that Professor Snape had an expansive personal library. But what would it house? What treasures would she discover there? How many wonders awaited her in such a library?

'Whoa there, Miss Hermione, you are getting vastly off-track,' her brain chided. 'Don't you remember, you're being stalked? Look at him! He's eyeballing you like his next meal, the slimy snake. Those intense eyes you were just thinking about are boring a hole in you, missy! Just you wait, any minute now his jaws are going to open and you're going to be-'

"Explain, Miss Granger." came the voice directly in Hermione's ear. Warm, steamy... It sent shivers down to her knees, and the damned traitors had the audacity to tremble.

"I'm sorry?" Hermione asked seriously. "What is this about, exactly? Admittedly I've spoken out of turn, but I assure you I have never spoken back to you in-"

"Si-ilence," Snape scolded. "You have come to class yet again, Miss Granger, with your hair looking as though you were caught in a misfired storm charm right before entering my classroom."

That was what this was all about? Not talking back, not being a know-it-all, not for asking too many questions; it was because she had _taken that shower_ earlier?

"Sir, I took a shower. That's all," Hermione said in confusion. "My hair just isn't completely dry yet."

"And you assumed it would be acceptable to come to my class in such a manner, Miss Granger? You look positively disheveled. Just how many points should I deduct for that? 50 or more, is that reasonable?"

"But, I, I mean- Professor, I did not-"

"No excuses, Miss Granger. And while we are on the subject of your apparent carelessness, might you explain as to why you are distracting the rest of the class with that distastefully overpowering scent?"

Hermione's brow knitted. Snape did his best to remain calm.

"You smell like a bakery dessert, Granger. It is distracting the other students and I require an explanation. Now, preferably, and without all that stammering you must think is decidedly quaint."

"Er, ah, um..." Hermione was considerably confused. He wanted to know why she _smelled_ the way she did?

"Granger..." Snape warned in a low, purposeful drawl as he strolled the short distance back to his desk.

Dammit, his mouth was watering! Just the girl's mere presence was causing that ache in him once more! Damn her- her explanation had better be a good one. Good and thorough or the intoxicating brat was going to sample his wrath.

"It's just my toiletries," Hermione said defensively. "Does the smell offend you, professor?"

"That is not the question I asked, Miss Granger. I think we both know how apt you are at answering my questions."

Hermione gulped. Should she answer him? Currently her dark-haired professor was lounging rather roguishly with his feet flat on the floor and knees spread, fingers entwined together against his nose supported by one elbows on the desktop. The immense power he was radiating was washing over her in waves, causing her to shudder where she stood. It did not help that his depthless eyes were staring at her from behind stray strands of his hair, searing hot pokers into her with their fiery intensity.

Courage, girl, you're a bold Gryffindor, not a meek Hufflepuff!

"Well, professor," Hermione started just after taking a deep breath to steel herself. She was mentally preparing herself to go into recitation mode as if she were still in class, which did not go unnoticed by Severus. The little lioness was obviously intimidated by him, as most of his students were, but she was hiding something. It would take more than slipping into her Little Miss Know-it-All persona to block that from Severus Snape. He smirked against his steeped fingers.

"My parents send me a care package every Christmas," she said as-a-matter-of-factly. "Every year it is the same shampoo and the same soap."

"And pray tell, what do your shampoo and soap smell like?" Severus implored, with a sort of tone to his voice that implied superiority. Her toiletries had not changed over the years; that was the explanation for half of the problem. Now about the rest...

"Professor, I really cannot fathom how this is relevant," Hermione said with a sigh.

"Did I ask you to comment? Just answer the question." Severus commanded, his voice soft but his words venomous.

Hermione made a dramatic display thinking, and then said: "The shampoo and conditioner are both 'mountain strawberry,' and the body wash is 'berry medley.' I think those are the right names... No, 'Berry Medley Pomegranate Splash.' That's it."

"Those do not sound like any cleansing potions I am aware of," Snape noted aloud. "Nothing that smells that pungently besides."

"My parents are Muggles," Hermione said, as if that explained everything, which in fact it did (much to Severus's surprise).

"You've left something out, Granger," Snape said as he tapped a finger against his cheekbone. Strawberry, blackberry, blueberry, pomegranate, raspberry, vanilla... Something. Something was missing.

"What? No, the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. That's all," Hermione protested softly.

Rising from his desk, Snape shook his head. His dark, bottomless eyes never left hers as he took small, stealthy steps towards her. 'He doesn't walk,' Hermione found herself thinking, 'Typically it's a stride, but this... This is like gliding...'

Her thoughts abruptly ceased in any sort of intelligent manner as Professor Snape closed the distance between them. He stood before her, billowing robes and all, looking down his massive nose as if Hermione was a little speck to be studied on the floor. Hermione shuddered but caught herself, managing to resort to a slight shaking of her hands. He was so close, he was so close! The lioness could feel the heat radiating from her predator's clothing, he was so close. Snape was her captor, despite the fact she could easily turn on her heel and exit through the nearby door without as much of a bother. Her professor was not blocking her there; no, he was rooting her to the spot by far different means.

It was then that she noticed Snape's eyes were locked on hers in a strange way, and Hermione knew for a fact she was reflecting some sort of bizarre, excited and scared emotion. She could not look away if she wanted to; her vision had narrowed dangerously and her heart was beating insanely fast. She gave a silent prayer to Nimue in hopes that her professor could not hear it battering against her rib cage. Hermione felt her face begin to darken; her mind and body were arguing about how to feel about the proximity.

"There's something else," Snape impossibly quietly, and his eyes shut for a brief moment. 

Hermione could feel herself shaking, but managed to swallow her feelings for enough of a second to whisper:

"Peaches and cream?"

Snape's eyes fluttered open. "You did not mention that before."

"It's uh, um-" Hermione paused to clear her throat in an attempt to stop her voice from shaking, "my shaving lotion. I uh, shaved my legs today."

Snape gave a slight nod, which was more like a tilt of his chin, and stepped away from the girl. That was it; it made complete and perfect sense. The damned girl had taken the liberty of bathing herself too close to class-time, and was forced to come in damp. Severus was forcing himself to focus on the result (damp hair, damp skin, dessert craving) rather than the penultimate act that showering would imply; he knew he would be in an _inordinate_ amount of trouble for imagining **that** about a student.

However, Severus's sharp mind wandered for half a second despite his attempts to disallow it to do such a thing. Severus was granted a fleeting image from his imagination, a dampened Miss Granger leaning over the side of a bathtub, one leg on the edge and wearing nothing but a crimson towel. She was rubbing lotion into her legs; her extremely smooth, shower-soft legs. The image was so vivid Severus could feel the humidity from the just-turned off shower suffocating his person, encompassing him completely with strawberries and cream and raspberries. It was like a gentle touch on his skin, soft and inviting, and it stole his breath in its headiness.

Then it was gone, and Severus growled mentally. His own imagination had betrayed him and turned him temporarily into a dirty old voyeur. If there was a way to punish such an intangible thing Severus would have done it, and was currently seething in anger as a certain part of his lower anatomy began started to beg for another tantalizing image. He would be damned if he would allow _that_ to happen. How dare his _own imagination_ betray him! Damn it all, his mouth was watering again.

But Severus wasn't craving sugary things; his mouth was questing for something else. He swallowed hard, and turned his confused annoyance onto the young woman still in his presence.

"In the future, Miss Granger, it would do you well NOT to leave things out," Snape scolded with his back to her.

"P-Professor?" Hermione began. "Why is this so important to you? Have I offended you?"

Severus was silent for only a moment.

"I told you, Miss Granger, you are distracting the other students."

"Professor, I know for a fact no one has complained about such a thing. I don't even think it crosses Ron or Harry's mind about what I smell like, let alone what I bathe with. There's something else, isn't there?"

Her eyes were pleading then, something hopeful and unspoken in their depths. 'Please, please, please, Hermione mentally begged, 'Give me more to work with, professor.' Professor Snape's eyes did not seem to be reflecting the response she wanted however, which made sense as Snape was actually contemplating how easy it would be to perform Leginemens with her eyes so willingly locked with his. She was acting curiously, still hiding something all the while trying to tell him something. He was curious to what it was, ever so curious, but he knew full well curiosity killed the cat. Might it take out a lioness?

As he looked down his nose at her, his eyes again held their place on her brown ones. Brown? No. More like chocolate. The scent drifted past him, beckoning the poor man to sweep the bewildered girl into his arms and drink the smell from her soft neck. It would be so easy, and she would give in eventually. Wouldn't she? Severus could almost feel the softness of her neck underneath his fingertips, despite having his hands clenched into purposeful bunches on the sleeves of his robes.

Wondering why his traitorous brain would think such a moronic thing, Severus realized the girl in question had been looking up at him with a bizarre look on her features. Her delicate face was turned up to him, her eyes half-lidded. She was trembling in fear, he had assumed at first due to his presence, but the way her breath was catching; the way she kept steeling herself... Hermione Granger was imagining something, something... Something about him, and given her present body language (which had obviously been interpreted far before rational thought had settled back in), she was thinking about something-

Oh Merlin. _That_ was what Miss Granger had been hiding beneath that Know-it-All act earlier.

One side of his brain quickly chided the other. 'You lecherous old man! You've lead her on, you obsessive old fool!'

Suddenly realizing the severity of the situation, Severus took a few steps back and turned forcibly away from Hermione. How dare he allow himself to lose control of the situation! Had he truly been so blinded by his obsession? His mouth... That was it too, wasn't it? He wanted something else, and it wasn't dessert. 

How dare he! Look what he had done- his obsession in trying to discover the source of the plaguing scent had caused the girl (no, no, young woman) to think he had other intentions. Hermione Granger was admittedly a smart girl; she would not be wooed so easily, correct? Despite this, Severus was still being plagued with images of himself stealing her into his robes and thoroughly possessing that which was so close. One fleeting image was particularly treacherous; it involved the young woman stepping from his own shower in the dungeons, filling the room with the aromas of her shampoo and soap.

His thoughts were his , his thoughts were his... No one could make him stray... No one could make him stray... He was in control, he was in control... He was... He...

Severus leaned a forearm against the stone wall beside his desk and pressed his suddenly warm forehead against the unforgiving wool of his sleeve. Curse showers, curse baths, curse them all for forcing perfectly clothed people to suddenly be naked. Curse them. If people bathed in their clothes, this would not be so damned-

"Professor?" came the voice of Hermione Granger. She had not left; her damned Gryffindor courage had most likely seen to that.

'So many buttons,' Hermione was thinking, given up at the present in trying to subdue her naughty thoughts. Maybe this way she could give her daydream-man a face. It was naughty, it was a bit strange, but she was beyond caring at this point. This situation was far too weird for her not to go home without a souvenir.

Her professor had remained silent however, lost in forbidden thought and guilt and daydreams and sugar.

"Professor?" she tried again, reaching out to him but ultimately retracting her hand. He would most likely lash out this time anyway, why lose a perfectly good quill hand?

"Do you recall what I told your class on the first day of Potions?" Severus asked still facing the wall, his voice maddeningly soft and just barely audible. The question was rhetorical. They both knew the answer to that one.

"Yes, professor," whispered Hermione. "Of course."

'Of course.' Of course she did. Severus quickly suppressed the fluttering sensation that had arisen once more. Her prescribing every moment of his spoken communications was not unique to him, Severus told himself, as she was an excellent student and that was just how she accomplished such stellar marks. That was how he had functioned while in school after all; it only made sense. Yes. It made sense.

Hermione's face meanwhile, was flushed in confusion and secrets, as she wrestled with herself in the silence. Her eyes kept darting to her professor's backside, during which Hermione's traitorous optics would linger for a moment or two before her brain caught wise. The young woman was struggling with her secret infatuation of the older man, which was not being helped by this particularly strange exchange of words.

 _"I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins..."_ the velvety voice of Professor Snape was speaking in her head. She could recall everything the man had ever said to her, and various phrases she chose to remember began to overlap in her mind like the swirls of a mixed cauldron. _"That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger. Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all... Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger, I must ask you not to discuss it in my class..."_

And then, the silence was broken by the real Professor Snape. No, no not broken; _broken_ was too harsh and implied pieces of something were left remaining. Broken implied a ruined silence, whereas this one was _changed_. This silence was perhaps bent, molded, or dissipated that day; but it was never broken.

"Five points..."

Hermione sucked in a breath. A pause, and then:

"...will be awarded to Gryffindor for managing to bewitch my mind and ensnare my senses."

And with that, Severus motioned his head towards the door, silently commanding the blushing girl from his presence. The little turn she did on the way out only prompted more desires for parfaits and fruit tarts...

...And maybe, just maybe, an accepted desire to run his hands through that lioness's mane.

**Author's Note:**

> Had to throw in a "Perfume: Story of a Murderer" reference since we all love Mr. Rickman so much. :)


End file.
